The Letters of the Law
by JuniperGentle
Summary: Miniature explorations of various characters using acrostics of their names to begin each paragraph. Kai, Tyson, Max, Ray, Bryan, Tala and Brooklyn.
1. Kai Hiwatari

**Kai**

**K**ai Hiwatari.

**A**lways, always, it was Kai. If it was anyone else, it was merely a poor imitation, and tended to fail badly. There was a good reason why Max went straight to Kai when his friends were trapped in Gideon's headquarters. His team knew he could get them out of any scrape, even if that "scrape" was as deep as a canyon.

**I**n a word – stubborn. Far too stubborn for his own good. That was how he did it. Did everything. It wasn't even a case of "if at first you don't succeed". It was "You Succeed". That was it. That was all that registered in Kai's world.

**H**aving probably the least conventional childhood of all of them, Kai had learned to only ever rely on himself. Team was not a concept he understood, not until... well, just _not. _Leadership and authority, though, he most certainly understood, and that concept he followed all his life.

**I**n his own mind, and _of_ his own mind, he was king. All-knowing, all-powerful, leader and lord; he was the logical choice to run things. It was how he had been brought up. You wouldn't question a king, would you? Then why question him? The problem was that most of the time, the others just mistook rightful pride for arrogance and lordly silence for selfish refusal to share. Hmph.

**W**hen he finally realised that they didn't see him as a prince, but as a human being, he was insulted for quite some time. Even wearing clothes of almost entirely royal purple hadn't changed their view. So he'd decided to shut them out until they respected him as the one who flew higher than they, switching to the team that deferred to him even though he was both younger and physically smaller than any of them. The Blitzkrieg Boys knew who he was.

**A**t the time, it had seemed like a good idea. It certainly got him where he wanted – facing the World Champion in the finals.

**T**yson.

**A**lways_, always_ it was Tyson. After all, that had been the driving force in his life – be the best, be the _only_ best. "You Succeed." If he was the best, then he was King.

**R**ather than admit that someone else could possibly be better than him, he said he would leave blading forever, the one thing that he loved, the one thing in life that actually still held some pleasure for him. He'd done it several times, and every time he'd been drawn back to the sport, had gone beyond his own barriers and even subjected himself to the tutelage of others in order to reach that first-place pedestal, simply because he could quite tear himself away from that hope that one day he might beat that stubborn upstart. He was Kai, and he was the best. Except that Tyson was.

**I**n the end, that fight was all he was, and that was all that registered in Kai's world.


	2. Tyson Granger

**Tyson**

**T**yson's world was pretty simple on the surface. School, homework (hah), eating, blading practice (what?) and seeing his friends.

**Y**ou didn't have to be a genius like Kenny to work out that the navy-haired teenager was good at what he did, or rather, he was good at what he loved. And Tyson loved doing two things more than anything else – blading and eating.

**S**trangely, he never tried combining the two, though Ray had once suggested it as a way of getting him to practice on time. Tyson had thought about it very seriously for all of three minutes until he'd finished his burger, and then laughed before grabbing Dragoon from the table and dashing outside, calling a challenge to Max as he went. Ray had rolled his eyes at Kai, who had given a characteristic "Hmph" as he followed the other two outside.

**O**nly, just under the surface, there was a lot more that you could find, if you only knew where to look; school was a good enough example.

**N**ever having been all that good at paying attention, even when he was younger, Tyson knew deep down that he could probably get better grades if he really _tried._ It was just that, because he had got used to being pretty much stuck at the bottom of the class, grades didn't mean much to him any more. Grampa was happier when he finished a complete kendo drill than when he came home with a report card full of Cs and Bs, and one A (P.E. – all Kai's training paid off at last). And Dad had told him to follow his heart, no matter what grades he got, and Tyson's heart was set on blading.

**G**rades didn't matter in blading. All you had to be able to do was want to help bring other kids to the sport, to introduce them to its joys, and Tyson was good at that. He wanted others to feel that happiness when your blade _finally_ did what you asked it to, and the thrill of battle that felt like your entire life was wrapped up inside five minutes and played at high intensity. So when the careers officer had asked _So what do you want to be when you're older, Tyson?, _he had found it very easy to answer _A blader. A beyblade coach. _He had certainly got a few odd looks for that one later.

**R**eally, though, part of him wanted to do better. Hiro was a blading coach now, but he had graduated with honours from one of the best universities in the country. Tyson couldn't ever match that, not even if he studied every day and night from now until the end of time.

**A**nd yet, whilst that part of him wanted to do better than Hiro in some way, another part of him kicked and screamed that it didn't _care_ what _Hiro_ did, what _Hiro_ managed. It just wanted to do what _Tyson_ wanted, to do the best that _Tyson_ could do. That was the value he held in the bey-dish, and soon enough it started to bleed into the rest of his life. As long as he did the best he could do, he wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about.

**N**ot realising what was actually happening, Tyson started to work as if each piece of homework was a beybattle against a favourite opponent. Maths tended to be Kai, naturally. Geography was Ray, Science was Max, English was normally Tala, and occasionally Raul and Julia, if it was an essay. Physics was Brooklyn, and that was final. Tyson didn't mind too much if he lost that one. And slowly, very slowly, the results showed through.

**G**rampa's face when he saw the report card with _three_ As on it was priceless. And, as he gave Tyson a one-armed hug, Tyson suddenly realised something.

**E**ven though Hiro might have got all As, there hadn't been much _effort_ involved. Beybattles were no fun when you didn't give it your all. Tyson didn't want to stay in education, but he could at least be proud of what he _had_ achieved, the way that he could be proud of the battles he'd fought and won, because he had done what he could and that was all he could do.

**R**emarkably soon after that realisation, Tyson could be found back outside among the beybattles, living his dream. The only maths was calculating angles of attack; the only physics was the speed of the blade; the only geography was that of the dish. Tyson was in his element. Who needed formal education? After all, blading was his first love. And Tyson was good at doing the things he loved.


	3. Max Tate

**Max**

**M**any people assumed that plain old "Max" was short for something much more elaborate, like Maxwell, or (even worse) Maximillian. This was almost insulting to the owner of Draciel, who considered his name to be much like his blading style, or indeed his favourite meal. Absolutely plain on the surface of the noodles, with a bit of zing hidden in the mustard.

**A**nyone who met Max couldn't help but be impressed by his sunny nature. There was no guile in his face – everything was worn on his sleeve along with his wide-open heart. People were friends, that was the way it was. There was no such thing as segregation due to strangeness in Max's world.

**X**enophobia was actually what Max had feared the most when he had made to move to Japan. He had no idea how the native Japanese bladers would take to the white American boy in their midst. But that fear was soon assayed when he stepped up to join the team that would be representing Japan at the World Championships; a grey-eyed teen brought up in the cold north of Russia, a neko-jin from the deep mountains of China, and Max's own new best friend, Tyson, the only one who was honestly born and bred Japanese.

**T**here was nothing false about him whatsoever. From his obvious defensive stance in the bey-dish to the openness with which he treated his friends, no-one could accuse Max of dissembling. They thought it impossible – why would sunny-bright Max need to hide anything away?

**A**ctually, that was just it. He had everything to hide – just none of it his.

**T**rusted by everyone, Max held the secrets the others did not. His open smile and open heart invited all comers in, and would lock their whispered secrets away as tight as possible. It was a symbol of their trust in him, of their love and friendship for him. And Max didn't mind one bit, because Max loved them back. Or at least, if he did mind, he would never let anyone think that.

**E**verything loved Max, pretty much, simply because Max loved everything. But Draciel loved him most of all, because everything that Max didn't wear on his sleeve he would whisper to his blade in the dead of night. Everyone trusted Max, and Max trusted Draciel. And the turtle would never, ever betray that trust, because, unlike him, Max didn't have a shell to retreat to if the world slammed its doors in his face.


	4. Ray Kon

**Ray**

**R**arely was such an honour bestowed on one so young. Ray knew this more than anyone as the White Tiger's bit-chip was gently placed in his hand. It was not only a symbol of his growing strength as a blader, or even the leadership abilities that he had been developing over the past months and years. It meant he was carrying the hopes and fears and dreams of the entire White Tiger village with him, a heavy burden for even the strongest shoulders.

**A**nd, at the time, Ray hadn't been sure if his shoulders were strong enough. So he had left the village, in order to grow stronger, until he knew that he could bear his burden with the same measure of grace and pride that the White Tiger moved with.

**Y**ou could be forgiven for thinking, like Lee had, that Ray had simply abandoned his village because he wanted to take the secret knowledge out into the world, to use it to seem special and gifted, to show everyone what the deep mountains of China were capable of producing. Lee thought it was a decision that was not Ray's to make. The thing was, though, that the moment that Driger had been placed into his hand, it _had_ become his decision, just as it had been Lee's grandfather's before Ray, and Lee's grandfather's grandfather's before that, and back and back. The only change was that Ray had made a different decision.

**K**nowing that the fate of the small village was entirely his burden, he had to get stronger in whatever way he could. He chose blading expertise as his area to focus on as one who would become a warrior-leader, rather than the wise sages that had gone before him. He would burn brighter than flame, and lead his village into the future, save them from dying out in a lowly backwater of the forgotten mountains.

**O**bviously, there were some who disagreed with his choice. After all, the wisdom of the elders and the tribe leader had kept them safe this far. But what they didn't know – and what Ray did – was that the world was changing too fast for their tribal wisdom to keep them all safe and hidden any longer. The numbers of planes overhead, the number of satellites, the number of thrill-seekers wandering alone in the mountains... sooner or later someone would come across them and all would be thrown into ruin.

**N**o. He would not – _could_ not – allow that. As the tribe's leader, with Driger the mighty White Tiger by his side, he would blaze the trail and bring his tribe forwards in his own time, rather than wait for the inevitable encroachment of 'civilisation'. The older generations might not like it, but Ray knew the truth. If they didn't adapt, and fast, their way of life would be lost forever. And if he had to fight for it, he would fight. He was Ray Kon, the newly-elected leader of the White Tiger Tribe, and he would not let his people down.

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><p><em>AN – Am happy to take requests for characters!_


	5. Bryan Kuznetsov

**Bryan  
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**B**orn the fourth of eight, he had to be responsible right from the start. His parents and the elder three worked, the younger four needed schooling. He was conveniently in the middle, expected to immediately obey the orders of his elders and the whining of his juniors.

**R**ebellion and running away, aged nine, brought freedom, but at a price. No longer having to look after anyone, no-one looked after him either. No-one to be responsible for, no-one to be responsible for him. Except him. At first, he loved it, threw himself into life on the streets with all the ferocity of a child who wants to live, want to survive. Then he got hungry.

**Y**oung enough to be bribed, young enough to be moulded, he was the perfect addition to the army of the purple-haired man who found him and offered him a home, a bed and food in return for obedience. Rebellion meant little when hunger clawed your insides like a bear.

**A**fter a mere month and a half, his loyalty was irrevocably bought. He obeyed every order, however bizarre, pushed himself to the limit in training, fought more savagely than any of the older boys. He never questioned, never complained, never failed.

**N**ot until Tala arrived.

**K**indred spirits locked eyes, wolf to falcon, predator to predator, blue to grey.

**U**nderstanding – acceptance – flared in both. Loyalty, in an instant, was lost and won.

**Z**eal. Fire. Trust. Absolute and all-consuming. Nothing could stand before them when they worked together.

**N**o-one could understand their link. Surely, wind and wave would work better together, or wind and fire, water and ice, or even the opposition of ice and flame. But instead, Tala and Bryan stood back-to-back, letting no-one else close to their frozen hearts, Arctic wind and Arctic ice.

**E**nemies were quickly made, and just as quickly disposed of. Trivial things like the title of Captain didn't bother them that much, as long as they could fight side by side.

**T**hose that Bryan did not take out, the man with the ice-blue eyes did. It was just the way they worked. And it _always_ worked.

**S**hock, at the age of fifteen, when it failed for the first time. When he lost. When _Tala_ lost. It nearly broke both of them, however strong a face they showed to the public. They should have been at the top of the food-chain, wolf and falcon, whilst the other two settled lower down. But somehow, their power had been swallowed up.

**O**nly one thing kept him going after that – the vows that he made to the man he had long ago sworn his loyalty to, in exchange for the man's own.

**V**ows to destroy the man with tiger's-eyes and long black hair that fell in waves around him like breakers on the shore.

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><p><em>AN – Sorry it took so long! These Blitz Boys, they've got such annoying names! So I had to do this one in a slightly different style._


	6. Tala Ivanov

**Tala**

**T**here was such a thing as fate, Tala decided.

**A**bandoned early in life, he had turned to stealing to stay alive. Then he had been found by the man with purple hair and red-eyed glasses, and had been told that he'd never have to steal again. If he kept on succeeding, everything he ever wanted would be given to him. All he had to do was to keep winning.

**L**ies. All lies. He never had to steal food, that was true, even though he was often hungry enough to. Instead, he had to steal hope, and steal bit-beasts.

**A**fterwards, he realised that he should have known. There was no such thing as a free lunch, let alone a free dinner, breakfast and place to sleep safely at night.

**I**nside the walls of the abbey, he was taught not to care. It made things easier if you didn't get too attached to them. Who knew when they would be taken away in punishment, or just to "toughen him up"? He'd heard one of the boys sobbing one night because the guards had taken away his clothes. They had been replaced with new sets, fitting the boy well enough, but the old ones had been the only things the boy had owned when he arrived.

**V**ainly clinging to objects as though they were handholds on a cliff was useless. More often than not, the handhold would collapse under you and you would fall into the prison cells beneath the abbey, never to be found again.

**A**fter all, it wasn't as if physical objects could help much. They had pulled him into the abbey with the promise of being given everything he wanted, and had kept him there by taking those same objects away as soon as he was given them.

**N**o amount of victories could quite fill up the void left by the abandoned promises and the empty words that had caught him. So he decided that perhaps it was his fate to be empty and lost forever, because it wasn't as if anyone seemed to be looking for him.

**O**ver time he grew cold and harsh, learning the abbey's lessons well. At least, until one day he looked across the mess hall and spotted a young boy with spiky blue and grey hair, who looked almost as abandoned as Tala felt.

**V**acant violet eyes snapped up to meet his, and a small smirk tilted the other's lips slightly. Tala ignored him, returning to his scanty meal, but the seeds had already been sown. Tala's fate was sealed.


	7. Brooklyn Kingston

**Brooklyn**

**B**rooklyn absolutely _hated_ his name.

**R**eactions when he was introduced (normally by an obliging Garland, or occasionally an unusually helpful Mystel) were many and varied. Everyone assumed he was either named after a borough of New York or – worse – that he was a girl. Which was just plain awkward. And then there was that thing with his surname; was he a Masefield like his dad or a Kingston like his mum?

**O**fficially, tradition dictated that he should take the name of his father, but Brooklyn didn't want to be connected to the imbecile who had given him a _girl's _name any more than he had to. His mum had always called him Brook, like the little river, and that suited him much better. And Kingston sounded better for someone who was partnered with the King of the Gods – and whose best attack was the King of Darkness.

**O**f course, all his records stated that his name was _Brooklyn Masefield_. But what did they know?

**K**ingston in spirit, he had always identified better with that part of him, the part that irrevocably declared his lordship over the others. Masefield was just a little too... violent for him, bringing images of maces and blood-red fields to mind, though it did have connections with the British nobility of times long gone. So if Brooklyn ever got to introduce himself, he'd say he was a Kingston. Naturally, this confused a lot of people. Annoyingly, though, this confusion never spread to the journalists and photographers that seemed to appear every time he walked out of the gates of Garland's family home, meaning that the pictures were always captioned with his "official" name.

**L**etters to editors – under a false name, to Brooklyn's private amusement – had done nothing to change this.

**Y**ou'd think that someone who had beaten the one and only Kai Hiwatari would have got a bit more attention, or at least enough to get people to remember what he preferred to be called. It wasn't Brooklyn's fault that he'd lost to Kai the second time (Zeus still claimed that second time round didn't count), and no-one knew what the final outcome of his match with Tyson was, which was good because Brooklyn had a funny idea he might have lost.

**N**ot that it really made much of a difference to him if he _had_ lost, or at least that was what he told himself. Tyson was very, very good, and he'd had the backing of so many bladers behind him whilst Brooklyn was still on his own with only Zeus for company. It was almost inevitable that Tyson would have the advantage.

**K**ind of annoying, though. If he'd beaten Tyson properly, then Kai's victory would count for absolutely nothing. Even the Phoenix had never managed to beat Tyson after their first meeting. Beating Tyson meant that you were automatically better than Kai.

**I**nevitably, Brooklyn's mind would always be drawn back to Kai, for no other reason than that there _had_ to have been something he had missed. Some hidden reservoir of power that he should have seen in his vision, some slight change to the blade, perhaps a moment when he hadn't done as much damage as he had thought.

**N**ever again. He swore it with every breath. Never again would he allow something to get away from him like that.

**G**raced with extraordinary abilities, he considered himself – naturally – to be above everyone else. A King. A King of Darkness, though now that Tyson had shown him how destructive that attack could be, he was tempted to change the name to something like the King of Birds or the King of Flight, or something. And yes, the name of it really was important, because names were powerful and names defined things that couldn't be defined otherwise.

**S**o he had good reason to be so defensive of his own. It defined him, the indefinable, the inexplicable, the infinite.

**T**yson and Kai had attempted to _define_ his abilities by finding his limits in battle. Garland and Boris had tried to _explain_ his abilities by testing him and his blade to see if science could handle him. And Hiro, when he had seen what he had unleashed, had endeavoured to make him _finite,_ because the infinite was impossible to understand. Hiro got scared by things he couldn't understand.

**O**nly Brooklyn really knew who he was, because he was the only one who was called Brooklyn.

**N**ames were funny things, really.

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><p><em>AN – I got very confused researching this chapter. I was almost certain that Brooklyn's surname was Kingston, but it turned out that it was Masefield all along. Must have been a fanfic thing that appeared and I didn't work it out before it was too late. But Brooke likes it better, so he kept it for this chapter. _

_Masefield really is a name of a family of British nobility – I think they were the Lords of Kent or something like that. They had their own coat of arms and everything._

_Brooklyn can be a boy's name (this being case and point) but in poor old Brooke's head it can't, and he's cross, so we'll just have to put up with him, or he'll set Zeus on us._

_For now, I am marking this story complete, as I have no more partially-completed chapters that I feel obliged to finish. If you have a specific request, I'll do it, but otherwise this story/experiment/acrostic thing is over!_


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